


bang, bang

by fullbodykiss



Series: poetry stories [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Jared, M/M, Poetry, Pre-Suicide Mission, Profanity, References to Depression, Student Jensen, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 14:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10946106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullbodykiss/pseuds/fullbodykiss
Summary: in the park he's never been to, he sees leather jacket boy on the bench farthest from a group of cherry trees. his head is bowed, hand picking at a scrape on his knee."hey", jared says, because he doesn't care. "i like your jacket."





	bang, bang

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer  
> The people belong to themselves.
> 
> Author's Note  
> Push them together,  
> until they're only one year apart.

 

 

## 

bang, bang

 

### ¤ ¤ ¤

 

 

it's the nicest day. 

coffee is ready, the shower running next door with the neighbour loudly singing _yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away_ , and now that there's no one around to yell at her, it doesn't even sound like hell.  
the windows are open, birds sing and the box is full. 

jared is so fucking relaxed. 

he cuts a thick lock of hair from the top of his scalp and ties it around the knob of his front door. he tries a bow, but it's not long enough. he shrugs. 

he pets the roly-poly brown cat, falsely grins at the lady who caught him adjust himself over the sweatpants, and a melody is playing in his head like it's leading him somewhere, a promising day. 

decides to go, go, run down that road. 

 

in the park he's never been to, he sees leather jacket boy on the bench farthest from a group of cherry trees. his head is bowed, hand picking at a scrape on his knee. 

"hey", jared says, because he doesn't care. "i like your jacket." 

stranger is startled, eyes ripping up from the open page.  
"uhm. thanks", he says slowly,  
raising the hand to scratch his neck. 

"and I think you're lovely", jared adds, sighing. he's standing barefoot in damp grass, swaying. it's windy and _good_. "poetry-pretty." 

stranger flushes down to his neck as he quickly looks to both sides, nothing to help the embarrassed smile breaking out wide and wider.  
"th-"  
"i'm gonna kill myself", jared continues. "y'all want my guitar? someone needs to play it." 

the smile freezes. 

slips. 

jared doesn't care. he's just waiting for an answer. 

stranger swallows very, very audibly.  
"i - are y-", he says, blinking with his very pretty eyes.  
and nothing.  
the sky is blue with transparent clouds. 

 

this is taking too long. 

jared is tired of waiting. the sky is still blue, but he never wants to wait again. 

"he-ey, uh -", he hears behind his back. 

jared doesn't know if he stops, exactly. 

it's not stopping. it's going slower and slower and not stopping at all, he concludes. 

"i, i-i want your - guitar", stranger stammers, running  
into sight with the book crammed in his white fingers.  
"i can. play, i mean. a little. where, uhm. where is it? what's your name?" 

jared just nods toward wherever the hell he was going.  
he doesn't think a bird's gonna poop on his shoulder today.  
when he starts walking again, he's still hearing steps from behind. 

one less problem. 

the melody is gone. 

 

\- 

 

"it's beautiful", stranger says, self-consciously playing a set of chords.  
he stops a few times, tries again. 

Am, C, D, C. 

it's normal. it's a fucking normal guitar,  
and it looks and makes noise like every single other guitar on the market. 

C, F, G. 

Bb, Cm, Eb. 

jared, blank face, turns to look  
at his side-profile. 

"what?",  
frightened what. 

a Fm chord fades slowly. 

"you're pretty", he utters, voice different. 

"you told me", stranger says.  
his fingers tense over the strings,  
and his head tilts towards the door,  
like he wants to glance at it. 

but he can't.  
jared's got him locked in a stare. 

"it's the freckles", he decides. 

"what's your name?", stranger asks, looking away finally. "i'm jensen." 

jared doesn't care. he tilts his head. 

"it's the freckles", he repeats. 

 

\- 

 

"can I use the bathroom?" 

jared stares at the table. "second door on the right." 

"okay. thanks."  
stranger walks, unsure, throwing four glances over his shoulder before he's left the kitchen. 

the shower has stopped. neighbour goes on, screeching by now, _-o be cool! to rule my world! ain't no particular sign i'm compatible with!_

jared is a fucking moron. 

 

\- 

 

from the corner of his eye,  
uniformed bodies  
walk towards his. 

he just keeps on,  
keeps on the fight of  
swallow, swallow, swallow. 

"i'm - not sorry",  
stranger chokes, eyes so wide,  
mouth so fast.  
"i'm sorry i can't be sorry, i'm sorry." 

his clutch around jared's shaking fist tightens.  
dry mouth, jared raises it. he wants to hurt.  
he wants to hurt him bad and _bad_.  
stranger flinches.  
it reminds him of the book. 

the hand is grabbed from behind, pulled down with  
force, shaking it open. 

all his magic falls to the ground, white and blue and yellow.  
they don't let him pick them up.  
they don't let him pick one up. 

and he remembers dad's gun in his front pocket.  
could take it in a flash, put it on his tongue and _end_. 

"my front pocket", he says. 

he feels fingers in there, grabbing and stealing; stealing his last salvation. 

 

and jared,  
he _cares_. 

 

cares, and he sobs,  
sobs. he's so fucking terrified. 

he doesn't want to go. he wants to run back and curl up. the pills can wait another day. let me go. please,  
please. 

stranger is just watching as they pull jared outside, the fucking traitor. why didn't he just let him. 

why didn't he just leave and _let him_. 

 

 

  
he runs once.  
he runs like an animal, and they catch him like an animal, sharp pain in his arm. 

"it's okay", woman lies,  
shhhh-shhh-shh. "it's okay. you're safe now." 

he's going to wake up.  
he's going to wake up again.  
no, no, this is danger. danger. 

_can i, can i come_ is the last thing he  
hears before the fog overtakes. 

 

(sleep, be a dream 

or stay.) 

 

\- 

 

he awakes. 

jared awakes in a room. 

the door is locked, the windows are barred,  
and he  
starts crying. 

everything.  
everything hurts,  
everything. 

his soul the most, his body with it,  
the void in his chest that isn't  
really a void, is too full,  
so full, so full of  
the junk. 

stranger is there, suddenly, and so jared cries at him. 

he can't scream. he doesn't hear what he's saying,  
doesn't _want_ to hear it.  
doesn't want to  
anything. 

 

\- 

 

"said i'm your cousin."  
stranger tries to smile. 

jared stays quiet. 

 

\- 

 

jared stays quiet in the light.  
that's when he sleeps. 

stranger doesn't come often, only every day. 

the rest of the time, jared has to sit and ignore people. 

he doesn't have  
to ignore stranger, no, he has to _tell_ him to fuck off. 

at night, he tries to remember his name. 

he can't. 

now he cares, now he can't. 

 

\- 

 

no stranger  
anymore  
won't talk to him that much  
anymore,  
won't look at him that much  
anymore. 

rather down at the thick books. 

 

and keeps coming. 

tuesday,  
wednesday, thursday,  
friday, weekend twice. 

monday for  
five minutes,  
hurried. 

they let him; they don't care. 

jared keeps breathing,  
and tries to think of  
any, _any_ single  
reason  
why. 

 

\- 

 

stranger is missing  
since last week. 

wednesday  
is the day of edge. 

 

\- 

 

he's back on friday with a new book in his hand. 

it's big. it says _Latin III._

he doesn't open it,  
he opens his mouth. 

"what did you do."  
trembling voice cuts through silence.  
"what did you _do._ " 

jared tries  
and tries, but it's quiet. 

they don't have mirrors.

it's okay. 

he feels all the colours on his throat. 

 

\- 

 

stranger  
comes back comes back comes back  
with new and old books, with  
pens and notebooks and  
glasses. 

jared won't ask  
the w's lying under his own skin,  
digging harder  
each time. 

medicine  
makes him  
sleepy. 

 

\- 

 

another  
time, he runs. 

"the best way out of here",  
woman no. 3 says softly, "is progress  
towards life." towards life. 

he laughs. he hurts. 

 

\- 

 

he can talk now. 

he still hurts, but 

he can. 

 

he does. 

"i don't", he answers the  
question. "know. want to say things." 

woman no. 2 frowns. "why not?" 

he doesn't know what he's saying.  
there's no meaning to anything. 

he's just keeping them entertained. 

 

\- 

 

"bring the guitar." 

stranger looks up, too much white in his eyes. 

"i. i left it at your house." 

"why?", he sits up. "why the fuck did you?" 

stranger backs against the wall, falls silent.  
he's biting his lip hard, so hard. 

 

\- 

 

stranger brings his  
own guitar.  
it's a slightly darker shade with a  
wild signature scrawled on its side. 

he plays. just simple chords. 

he doesn't mess up. 

G, Gbm, B7. 

Em, D, C. 

strumming pattern up, down, down, up.  
his fingers keep catching on the low E-string.  
steady. 

D, D7, G. 

Em, A, C, G. 

by the time he's finished, his face is ablush. 

and as he leaves, jared just can't  
hold his mouth.

"it's nice." 

stranger tilts his head.  
surprise.  
"thank you", he says quietly,  
strawberry-red. 

jared can't remember his damn name. 

 

\- 

 

stranger sets a brown package on his bed.

"open, please." 

jared open, please's it. 

it's the three smallest cookies he's ever seen.  
three tiny cookies with pink frostings. 

jared's had enough. he glares.  
"why are you here. who are you." 

stranger swallows. he's frowning. 

"i'm, uh. i'm your - friend. jensen." 

"don't have no friends", jared replies, auto-mode.  
jensen. jensen, jensen. 

one bite is half a cookie. 

it's sweet. better than the food they give him.  
better than the medicine.  
so he eats two more halves. 

thrusts the package back. 

"disgusting. keep it." 

stranger, jensen, _friend_ smiles only barely.  
a book is held behind his back. 

 

 

on his way out, jensen looks back.  
deep, deep in thought, book forgotten in his sunken hand. he's not smiling.  
or trying to. 

jared finally sees the book title. _Crush._

he waits. 

"i'm moving with my family to ohio", jensen begins carefully, looking. "westerville, ohio - but i'll come back." 

the book cover is an almost-black-and-white, thick lips under stubble dragging along one's  
finger, wet thumb down. 

jared's knee twitches.  
he says something.

"goodbye." 

  
jensen, after stomping back to the bed in quick broad steps, yanks jared's head up by his jaw. 

urgent, urgent eyes boring through. 

"i _will_ come back", says a voice of  
marmor and steel.  
no blink. 

jared can't stand it.  
jared should look away before he believes again, trusts the exact copy  
of what dad told him on the  
phone on new year's eve. 

"i'll come back. i'll come right next weekend. here",  
he presses the book against jared's chest. he rips the glasses from his nose and sets them on top. 

"i'm yours. i'm your friend, jared. i'm yours", he insists, almost stubborn, pleading now. this is more talking than he's ever done in one setting. "you'll be here, yeah? just be here." 

_you're not my friend._

jensen backs off again, letting jared's chin sink against the pulled up blanket. 

then, at the door.  
"jared, i'll come back." 

  
he can't look up on his own. 

 

\- 

 

two days  
or minutes in,  
jared starts the book. 

he finds  
tiny notes scribbled in  
narrow margins, careful not to  
cross out any of the printed poems. 

no other  
harm is done,  
nothing marked, no folded corners. 

  
by the end of the book, he's only reading the  
lines related to the notes,  
hurrying, hurrying  
to nowhere. 

  
and then, he reads it again.  
he reads the entire book again, and he reads every single poem too fast, too hungry.  
he can't savour. 

  
he knows it must  
be jensen's favourite; the  
way he hid it, the way  
he pressed it to his heart. 

 

\- 

 

a ripe, full week bursts at the seams,  
and a new one starts  
blooming. 

dad left him his favourite gun, too.  
jared can almost understand. 

he reads the book a third time. 

  
he can do it without hurry, now. 

 

\- 

 

on monday morning at seven o'clock, a frowning  
nurse lets jensen in. 

air changes.

"hey", he breathes, smiling too wide,  
coming too close for it  
not to become an  
embrace.  
his arms cradle jared so softly,  
so delicate, he almost  
pushes him away.  
an ice cold wrist brushes the hairs of his neck, sending down a small shudder, and he realizes  
they're friends. 

something violent  
tugs at jared's mouth.  
he bites the insides, strains all  
of his muscles to  
make it stop. 

"took the late train", is the  
murmur. "had to camp. they didn't let  
me in before seven." 

jared needs, needs to pull, pull away.  
dense. he feels so juvenile, disgustingly exposed. 

  
"i broke your glasses." 

the second it turned twelve o'clock, like  
a fucking child. 

jensen's nice enough  
to hide a wince. 

"it's. it's okay. i broke  
your heart", a joke,  
lopsided grin. 

jared doesn't even try. 

he walks back to the window-sill, which he had jumped up from like a rocket ship, book still open. 

he picks it up, hands it  
back to jensen. 

" 's alright", he answers the  
nervous eyes. 

they just lit up.  
"yeah?" 

he shrugs. 

taps the cover, right on the fat underlip. 

"that your fave?" 

and jensen nods awkwardly, scratching his moving  
neck as he does.  
always  
the neck. 

jared exhales. "it's  
cool, i guess." 

he's bombarded  
with the vibrant  
casanova of  
smiles. 

  
the changed air  
is fresh and  
strong. 

 

\- 

 

jared is released from the  
mental hospital after five months.  
_only_ , they said. 

and right after his birthday.  
no one knows  
what to do what him.  
too young to be independent, too  
independent to be someone's  
temporary child. 

 

  
he made the mistake of mentioning it.

 

  
the apartment hasn't been his for a  
while. dad was long overdue to pay months  
and months worth of rent. it was waiting to happen. 

 

 

but jensen has his own car now. 

 

 

he drives them out, far out of the city. 

 

jared sees the stars. 

  
he leans his head against  
jensen's shoulder as he  
stares  
up,  
every blink  
equal to lost time. 

  
a comet visits. 

 

 

¤ 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a comment/kudo if you liked it.  
> critics are also welcome.  
> thank you for reading.  
> if you find any mistakes, don't hesitate to let me know.
> 
> x thea
> 
>  
> 
> ps: you want a friends-to-lovers pt. 2?
> 
> -
> 
>  
> 
> referred songs
> 
>  *  
>  _yesterday ___  
> by the beatles  
>  *  
>  _kiss_  
>  by prince
> 
>  
> 
> referred books
> 
>  
> 
> *  
>  _crush_  
>  by robert siken
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  


End file.
